


The Spotted Mailbox

by Mommadon



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Lukanette February 2020, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mommadon/pseuds/Mommadon
Summary: When she overhears her parents discussing the financial concerns of the bakery, Marinette comes up with a plan, and maybe gets in over her head.Happy Lukanette month, everyone!
Comments: 19
Kudos: 66





	The Spotted Mailbox

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all my Lukanette shipper friends who encourage me to write instead of doing the laundry. :)

Ladybug’s sweep of her potential landing spot had become instinctual after nearly two years of practice. The miraculous she wore in her earlobes gave her enhanced hearing and vision, and she’d also learned to identify nearby people by scent—though _please_ don’t tell Chat Noir that… Today was no different. It was evening, the sun was almost gone, she had the protection of darkness on her side, but she still looked carefully, inhaled through her nose, and quieted herself to listen for any possible witnesses. Nothing. She exhaled, landed softly behind the chimney that shielded her balcony, and then slipped through her trap door and slid down the railing to her bedroom. 

“Tik-“ she began her de-transformation sequence, but the sound of her parents’ hushed whispers caught her attention. Or rather, her parents’ _concerned_ hushed whispers caught her attention. She quietly padded to the door to the main living area below her and opened it carefully. They were clearly in their bedroom.

“I don’t know, Tom, all I know is that ever since that Starbucks opened across the way, our revenue has been dropping.”

“Grr! Their pastries can’t even begin to compare with our homemade ones!”

“I agree, but the point still stands—we need to come up with some kind of a promotion. What do you think about taking out a newspaper advertisement, or a television commercial?”

“Sabine, you know how I feel about cheesy local ads like that. I always wanted this to be a small, neighborly place that’s about community and great food, not about profits or corny slogans.”

“Then what about a big sale?” Tom was silent for a bit—Ladybug assumed he’d made some kind of nonverbal gesture, because her mother continued, “Or, we’re going to have to sell something that’s cheaper to make.”

“Are you suggesting I lower the quality of my ingredients, or put out an inferior product? Do you know me at all?”

“Sweetheart, all I’m saying is that we need to figure out how to boost revenue or decrease costs.”

Ladybug heard her father’s resignation through the wall. “Alright. Tomorrow we’ll test some new recipes and look into some advertisement options.”

Ladybug suddenly felt very exposed there, and very guilty for eavesdropping. “Tikki, spots off,” she whispered, and Marinette waited a beat before knocking on her parents’ bedroom door.

“Marinette, sweetie, was your girls-night-out nice?” her mother smiled, although Marinette could see the strain at the corners of her eyes.

“So great. I was just checking in, saying goodnight.”

“Thanks for doing that, darling,” her father grinned, hugging her tightly. She could tell his nose was puffy, as if he’d been holding back tears. 

“So, I just wanted to say, I know I promised my class macarons for Valentine’s day, but it’s really ok. I’m thinking I’ll do something… different… I don’t know…”

“What are you talking about?” her father gripped her shoulders tenderly, “Do they not like macarons all of a sudden?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… we have other ways of treating the students that don’t put a burden on the bakery…”

Marinette’s mother’s eyes narrowed intuitively, “Marinette, honey, did you hear your father and I discussing things just now?”

Marinette chewed her lower lip, “Maybe a little.”

Her father nodded knowingly, “Listen to me, my beautiful baby girl, we are going to be just fine. I don’t want you to worry one bit. Valentine’s day is in less than a week. We always do well then, you know. We’ll be just fine. Besides, I would sell my left kidney before I would let you go to school on Valentine’s day without a box of my finest macarons!”

She hugged him. He hugged her back. Her mother joined in. They held each other for several quiet, hopeful moments. Marinette pulled back, kissed both parents, and before she’d even made it up the stairs to her bedroom door, her plan was fully formed.

* * *

Alya had her camera at the ready, even though she knew there was a good possibility this was some hoax at her expense. After all, could she really trust some random commenter on her blog? Even if that person did happen to know an uncanny amount about Ladybug? So, there she stood, feeling slightly foolish, but not bemoaning any chance to say hi to her bestie and grab an amazing Dupain croissant. If this lead panned out, she’d have the biggest scoop in weeks. If not, at least she hadn’t wasted her morning.

“Oh my--!” someone nearby shrieked, pointing at the sky. Alya nearly dropped her phone. Her heart was racing, her palms started sweating, but she managed to start the camera and took a deep breath to steady herself. Oh, sure, it was exciting to get some up-close footage of Ladybug, but even better was knowing that her source had been the real deal—now she had contact information for the spotted superheroine.

Ladybug soared in on her yo-yo string, did a couple of flips, and landed in front of the Boulangerie-Patisserie at the height of the morning rush. 

“Oh, hey there, Ladyblogger!” she laughed with a wave. “I loved your piece about Viperion; you’re totally right, each superhero is so important to our team! But then again, every citizen is a superhero when they serve others. I’m just so lucky to be a part of this amazing city and community. Thank you!” 

Alya was speechless. She stuttered briefly, “Oh—hu—uhh—Thank _you,_ Ladybug! Are you here for… breakfast?”

Ladybug nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t normally have time to stop by my favorite bakery, but I finished up morning patrol a bit early and thought I’d treat myself to some of their glorious pain-au-chocolat. Or maybe some salmon quiche? It’s a bit early for macarons, but I never leave here without a box of them… Hm…” she tapped her fingers on her lips, then started toward the door. 

“Ladybug, can I buy you breakfast?” an excited onlooker suddenly burst. 

Ladybug’s eyes popped wide, and Alya thanked her lucky stars she got such a cute expression on camera. “Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest thing? But really, the best thanks you could give me is to pay it forward.” Ladybug started again toward the bakery door, but was thronged by adoring fans.

“Please, please let us show our gratitude,” one was yelling. “Ladybug, you’re the best!” another screamed. After a minute or so of this, Ladybug held up her hands and the crowd separated enough that Alya could get a close-up. 

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll put up a mailbox in the entrance of this amazing Boulangerie-Patisserie, and you can drop off thank-you notes here. I’ll pick them up on Valentine’s day evening. But I mean it—pay it forward!”

Everyone—including Alya—was too excited about this unexpected opportunity to communicate directly with Ladybug that nobody noticed when she zipped off empty handed.

* * *

“Holy _cow_ Alya,” Nino groaned, “how many followers do you have?”

Her eyes popped as they traced the line of people pouring out the entrance to Marinette’s family bakery. It was already a couple dozen people long, and the video of Ladybug had only been online since the start of school. “Apparently more than I thought!” Alya smiled broadly. “I suggest we get in line now. Nadja Chamack just shared the post.”

* * *

Tom Dupain’s body ached from head to toe, but he couldn’t stop smiling. In the four days since Ladybug had left a red-and-black-spotted box in his bakery, they had sold out of every item before lunch, and had spent every afternoon accepting stacks of orders and filling their catering schedule for the next six months. Of course, it had taken less than an hour to stuff Ladybug’s mailbox full, and so Tom frequently emptied the little mailbox into boxes in the back storage room. When those got too full, he filled empty flour sacks and stored them beside his bed. The next day was Valentine’s day, and Tom had quadrupled his normal inventory, just to be ready. He only got a few hours of sleep that night, but he’d never felt so excited. (Except for when he had handed Sabine that scoop of vanilla ice cream… nothing could ever top the excitement of that moment…) He pumped out tray after tray of macarons. Sabine was just as excited as she sautéed leeks and spinach for her quiches. 

“Tom, I ran some numbers last night—even once the hullabaloo inevitably wanes, this phenomenal week should re-fill our emergency fund, and all the catering orders guarantee success over the next year. I’ll be forever grateful to Ladybug!”

Unbeknownst to her parents, Marinette and Tikki smiled at each other from the top of the bakery stairs. She let her parents finish their conversation and move to a new topic before she threw the door open, yawned, and skipped down to kiss her parents’ cheeks. 

“Good morning, and happy Valentine’s day, sweetheart!” her father boomed, before twirling to her with a massive box of assorted macarons. 

“Oh wow, Papa! You didn’t have to do this!”

His bushy eyebrows quirked at her. “Come rain or shine, in good times and in bad, I will still _always_ make sure you have the greatest Valentine’s day ever.”

She chuckled and hugged her amazing father. “So will I,” she whispered to herself, before pulling on an apron and getting to work.

* * *

“Wow, Marinette! I can’t believe you managed to procure this many _Dupain_ macarons!”

“Uh… Kim… you _do_ know that my parents own that bakery, right?”

The whole class laughed as they shared the delightful little treats. 

“Still,” Alya muttered under her breath, “Chloe made her butler wait in line for hours, and then had quite the tantrum when she didn’t get any yesterday. Apparently she was trying to buy her way up in line and everyone kept saying that Dupain baked goods were worth more than her pathetic bribes.”

Marinette grinned. “Ah, I’m happy to share macarons with my friends. Happy Valentine’s day, everyone!”

“Hey, Marinette,” Adrien shrugged, and Marinette’s heartbeat stuttered, “My bodyguard wouldn’t let me wait in line to get to the Boulangerie-Patisserie, and I was wondering…” she opened the box in quiet anticipation, “would you put this in Ladybug’s mailbox for me?”

He handed her a stiff, expensive card. “Oh,” she said, feeling a strange pang in her stomach. “Yeah, I can probably do that,” she responded as she tucked the card into her bag. 

“Thanks. I just wanted to make sure she knew how much I appreciate her, you know?” Adrien’s gaze seemed to be fixed on something behind her, as if she wasn’t even there.

“Yeah, no problem.”

* * *

“Do you think Chat Noir might let me borrow Plagg for a day or two?” Marinette whined to Tikki somewhere around two in the morning. “He could make short work of opening all these envelopes.”

Tikki giggled as she threw another gushing letter in the air. “This is amazing!” she trilled and rolled down the mountain of paper strewn across Marinette’s bedroom floor. “And so clever to suggest putting everything on your balcony so ‘Ladybug can come get it a bit at a time!’ Nobody will be the wiser!”

The pick-up of the mail had turned into a massive ceremony. Mayor Bourgeois had given a loquacious speech about everything Ladybug and Chat Noir do to help the city, and that had morphed into an even lengthier political rally. Every media outlet in Paris seemed to be there. The road was blocked off and the crowd extended around the block. Ladybug felt like a total idiot as she stood there, accepting the applause of the hundreds of thousands of attendants. But she smiled, waved, gave a quick speech about her gratitude, thanked the Dupain-Chengs for their hospitality, plugged the bakery one more time, and then did some aerial acrobatics just for good measure. The crowd had nearly deafened her, and then it took Marinette a few hours of waiting out the rush of people before she could get home, just to be confronted with this wall of paper in her bedroom. 

At first it had been flattering. Letter after letter praising Ladybug, heartwarming tales of being rescued, generous gifts of money, gift cards, scholarships, and more… Marinette was thrilled, of course.

But slowly, as the hours ticked by and Marinette’s fingers started to get sore from handling so much mail, something started nagging at her. 

“Tikki, do you… do you think anyone likes me?”

Tikki’s little eyes bulged, “Are you crazy? You’re sitting in a massive pile of fan mail and you ask if anyone likes you? Isn’t it obvious?”

Marinette rubbed the backs of her arms slowly, “No, I mean _me.”_

“I don’t get it.”

“All this is for Ladybug.”

“And _you’re_ Ladybug!”

“I know, but I’m also Marinette. I make mistakes. I freak out over stupid things. I have crushes and heartbreak and I don’t like pickles. I’m not this perfect savior they think me to be. They love Ladybug—they love the magic and the super strength, but they don’t know me. They don’t love me.”

Tikki scoffed and shrugged. “No way. You’re all the same person. Now, here, open this one, it feels heavy.”

Marinette appreciated Tikki’s kind words, but it did little to lighten the jealousy and hurt that had welled up in her chest. 

“I think I’ll just go to bed now,” she muttered, and climbed up to her loft. 

A single, teal envelope sat on her pillow. She nearly chucked it across the room in anger. “Tikki, I thought you were going to put all the fan mail down there, not up here on my bed!”

“I did!” she quipped from Marinette’s bedroom floor, and then started giggling again at whatever she was reading this time. 

Marinette looked over the plain envelope with venom in her eyes, but her jaw dropped when she read ‘To Marinette’ on the front. She slipped a sore finger under the seal and popped it open. A thumb drive fell out. Intrigued, she went back down to the fire-hazard below her and pushed it into the USB port on her computer. It was an audio file. She pressed play, and a beautiful melody poured from her speakers, picked expertly on an acoustic guitar. 

The song was fresh and vibrant. The anger and jealousy started melting away. Finally, it reached its final cadence, and a quiet, caring voice said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Marinette. I just wanted you to know that I care about you and think you’re amazing, just the way you are.” 

There was only one Valentine in Marinette’s hand as she fell asleep that night with a soft smile still gracing her face.


End file.
